


Headway

by idiotbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotbrothers/pseuds/idiotbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request, a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headway

Dean was comfortably buzzed, mood at an all-time high with Sam lounging at his side and everything looking that much softer around the edges. He was feeling good, so it didn’t occur to him how unusual it was that Sam was practically in his lap at the foot of his bed. “Such a lightweight,” Dean remarked by rote, watching Sam’s head loll forward a bit as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Hate you,” Sam said, fisting a hand in Dean’s shirt as he pulled himself up a little, straightened and gave Dean a look that burned with unreadable intent. 

Dean smiled at him, hand finding its way over to Sam’s knee, squeezing affectionately. “Hate you too, little brother.” Sam was still staring at him, and Dean didn’t know why, but his eyes slipped to Sam’s mouth, lingered there for so long that he fell into a sort of daze and missed whatever it was Sam mumbled at him. 

"What’d you say? I wasn’t listening." 

He was suddenly acutely aware of the way their legs were tangled together. How had that happened?

“Dean. You never listen.”

"Sorry." Dean’s attention snapped back onto Sam’s face, looming close and huge and broadcasting something that stirred Dean’s insides. "What is it?"  

Sam licked his lips, eyes flickering, warm flush spread over his cheeks. 

His voice was steady and clear when he answered, “Kiss me.” Dean’s brain juddered to a halt, sweat prickling on his palms where they were folded over Sam’s arms. He wasn’t drunk enough to be hallucinating, nowhere near the kind of high that loosened his tongue and sent his mind careening into restricted territory. But… 

"What did—could you—could you repeat that?" Dean’s tongue was a leaden weight in his mouth, clumsily tripping out the question because he felt very lost and he needed to be anchored to the moment.  

"Kiss me," Sam said again, hands insistent on Dean’s shoulders, eyelids lowered and forehead tensed.  

Broken out of the illusion that had been flouncing through his mind, Dean gently removed Sam’s hands and extricated himself from Sam as best he could. “Had a lot to drink, huh, Sammy? Your tolerance is even weaker than I thought.” He stood up and forced an uneven laugh, shoved his hands deep into his pockets as Sam stared up at him blearily from where he was sprawled on the floor.  

"Yeah," Sam muttered, almost to himself, "Yeah, I’m really drunk."

"Think it’s time for you to turn in," Dean continued, managing to keep his voice light. He would have helped Sam up, but luckily for both of them, Sam got to his feet without a fuss, avoiding Dean’s eyes. "Sorry," he whispered, inarticulate. Dean shrugged, playing it casual even though there was nothing casual about the situation. "We’ll be laughing about it tomorrow, right? Just an inside joke." He felt a little sick to his stomach as he said it, and that in turn only confused him further. "A joke," Sam agreed, quiet and subdued and already pitching himself into his bed. He settled with his back to Dean, still fully clothed. Dean continued to stand there long after Sam had fallen asleep, mind whirling with unanswerable questions, eyes boring into Sam like if he stared at him long enough, he’d figure him out.  

Several hours of fitful dozing later, he was still thinking about it, couldn’t will away the image of Sam’s spit-moistened lips, of the vulnerable shine to his eyes and the heat of his clumsy fingers on Dean’s skin. It commanded his attention, exposed something in him—a raw, reticent seed of  _something_  that he had to dig deep to get at. And looking over to the other bed as the morning light snuck stealthily through the crack in the curtains, as Sam shifted in his sleep and uttered slurred monosyllables that distinguished themselves from his quiet snores, Dean came to a realization.

It was still mostly dark out, but he got out of bed and clicked the bathroom light on, humming his way through his morning routine. Sam was awake half an hour later, squinting bemusedly at Dean and the stack of paperwork he was currently rifling through. “Dude,” groused Sam, which Dean took to mean,  _What the hell are_ you _doing up at the asscrack of dawn_.

“Seizing the day, Sam. You should learn from my example.” 

Sam made a face at him before seeming to recall something, if the way he suddenly winced and looked away was any indication. 

"Listen…about last night…"

For once, Dean said nothing, partly out of curiosity as to what excuse Sam would come up with. Apparently Sam hadn’t been prepared for anything that wasn’t a quick dismissal of the conversation, because he trailed off vaguely, fidgeting and rubbing at the back of his neck. “What about last night?” Dean prompted, raising his eyebrows innocently when Sam frowned, cheeks stained with red.  

"Ah, you know—I was—it was a misunderstanding. We don’t need to ever talk about it again. Or think about it. Ever." Dean considered Sam for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table and watching his little brother’s hands twist and untwist in his sheets. 

"See, that’s where you’re wrong, Sammy," Dean finally said, getting up and stopping in front of Sam’s bed. 

"What’re you talking about?" Sam tilted his head up to look at Dean, nervousness written all over him.  

Dean curled his fingers against Sam’s face and began to lean down, and Sam didn’t have time to do much more than widen his eyes before they were kissing. Sam’s breath stuttered audibly, and after a minute (or two, or twenty), he gripped Dean’s shirtfront and dragged him into bed with him, Dean’s arms landing on either side of Sam’s head. Dean let himself stare, appreciative gaze roving over Sam’s features until he began to get impatient. “What now?” He asked, sounding stupidly out of breath. Dean grinned slow and easy as he moved to kiss the underside of Sam’s jaw. 

"Always gotta think too hard around you," Dean said, finding Sam’s lips again when he turned his head to nose at Dean’s neck. 

"Fucking tiring," Dean added, whispering it into Sam’s mouth. Sam just grabbed his ass in response. 


End file.
